No Ordinary Killer

by Rita Karnopp

  Megan’s mind raced. Once she hit the send button to Jessica, did the killer go out and bring that murder to life? Were Malicious Intent and Physical Evidence blueprints for murder? God, what have I done?

  No, Megan told herself. This was not her doing. There were thousands of books on the market involving murder. What made her books more volatile than all the others?

  She had a connection with the serial killer. He had chosen the victim and manipulated what he wanted her to write. He had an agenda and she had become a part of it. A comment she’d recently read about serial killers rushed into Megan’s thoughts: he kills because he likes to kill.

  If only she could … through the heavy fog in her brain, she suddenly grasped her hands nor feet were bound. If he planned on taking her to Garnet like she’d written in Physical Evidence, then she was wrapped in only a blanket that was secured in place with a rope. In the book, the victim was already dead and there was no fear of her trying to escape. Megan wiggled and shifted the blanket, loosening the restraints.

  The pitch black confines of the trunk impeded her efforts. With considerable efforts, Megan managed to free herself from the restraints. Now she had to concentrate on escaping before he reached Garnet. There was one problem here, she had no idea how long she’d been knocked out or how long they’d been on the road.

  Cold seeped in to the small space and she shivered. Megan moved her palms over her legs and recognized the feel of fishnet stockings held up with garters. The bra was nothing more than a push-up underwire. Her beautiful new breasts were firmly held in place for display. She pulled the blanket around her body and felt along the edge of the trunk. She found the latch, but there seemed no way to force it to open.

  Megan lay on her back and raised her knees and pressed, trying to pop the trunk open. It didn’t budge. Again she felt around in the dark space. She rested her palm across a cold piece of metal. Moving her fingers across it like a blind person, she recognized the shape of a crowbar. In the bleak trunk she felt a ray of hope.

  The killer wouldn’t expect her to be awake and he definitely wouldn’t anticipate she’d have a weapon. If she couldn’t get the truck open, maybe with the element of surprise, she could hit him in the face with the iron when he opened the truck. Either way, she had more of a chance now than before.

  Finding the notch of the trunk, Megan positioned the curved edge of the crowbar into it and pulled down. Nothing happened. She reversed the crowbar and wedged it into the slot.

  The click sounded like music from heaven. The trunk popped open, snapping it back so hard it hit the cars back window. He slammed on the brakes, sending Megan into the bowels of the trunk. She scrambled back to the edge and pulled herself out, grabbing the blanket as she rolled down the ditch. She clumsily got to her feet and blindly ran across the tall grassy field, toward a grove of trees. Her legs wobbled and she found her motor skills performed as though she were drunk.

  Rocks, dried grass and things she didn’t even recognize tore, stabbed, and cut at her fishnet stocking feet. She didn’t know where the killer was, her heart pounded in her head so loudly she heard nothing else. As though writing a scene in one of her books, Megan dropped to the ground. Standing and running she was a moving target, easily spotted. On the ground, he wouldn’t so easily spot her in the tall grass. The black night was in her favor.

  Megan raised her head barely high enough to look in the direction of the car. The lights were on and the car was still running. She didn’t see the killer anywhere. Should she stay put and risk him finding her? She couldn’t have run far. Maybe she should start crawling. The further away—

  “Oh, Megan love. Where are you? You know you can’t escape me. All I have to do is wait until the rising sun, and I’ll spot you in minutes. Stand up and come back to the car now or you will pay dearly when I catch you.”

  Even if she thought he wouldn’t make her pay, she couldn’t willingly go back to him. She knew what he was going to do to her.

  “Come on, whore. We have a date with fate. There isn’t a soul who knows you are here with me. No one cares if you never return. Do you have any idea what this is going to do for your sales?”

  His laughter caused Megan to freeze. She recognized that laugh, but through her muddled, semi-drugged thoughts she just couldn’t place it. The cold gripped her body and she shivered uncontrollably. Exhausted, Megan fought to stay awake. She pulled the scratchy blanket tight.

  “There you are. You’ve been a very naughty girl.”

  The beam from the flashlight blinded her eyes. Instinctively she closed them and pressed into the ground, as far from his reach as she could get. “No, leave me alone,” she mumbled. He grabbed her right arm and dragged her to the car on her back. She gripped the blanket tight with her left hand; still the sticks, rocks and stubbled grass tore at her flesh. She cried deep inside, but no tears formed.

  He tossed her hard into the trunk and Megan cried out.

  “Shut up, slut. You’re more trouble than you’re worth.”

  She attempted to see her killer, but she could barely make out the edges of his face. The drug in her wine had far from worn off. She lay still as he moved his palm up her leg, across her thigh, midriff, then settled on her breasts.

  “Lovely, Megan. You could stir a dead man to have an erection. If it wasn’t so damn cold, I’d have you right now. That will give you something to look forward to. I know how you like to fuck.”

  “Dennis … is that you? Why?” The slam of the truck caused Megan to cringe. He had roped her hands and feet tightly together, like a young calf at a rodeo. How could she have managed to screw up the one good chance she had to escape? He was going to kill her … and there was nothing she could do to stop him.

  * * *

  Sleep deprivation did not help their situation. Dallas figured Cooper had less sleep than she had in the past few days. She waited while he set the cruise control. “You get sleepy open a window and let me know. I’m hoping to stay awake.”

  “You okay back there? I still don’t think your coming was such a good idea. You should be in a hospital.”

  “Bull. We need to give this case some attention and now we have a window of three hours or more. We can’t waste this precious time. When we get to Missoula I’ll have a fellow officer pick me up and we’ll figure out a plan that won’t get your family or you killed.” Dallas rolled to her back and stared at the Jeep ceiling. “Filling the wells on the floorboard was a great idea. I don’t think I could have tolerated bouncing on that hump for over three hours. That Pete is one clever kid. Having said that, let’s do some brain storming. I’d like to discuss your cousin’s adoption.”

  “That should have been the first thing in Weaver’s file.”

  “I read his file, and it said nothing about adoption. Either the information was tampered with, or our Paul Weaver never disclosed that fact from the beginning. That would lead me to question why.”

  “Either way doesn’t make him a killer. There is no way he’s the animal we’re looking for. You’re forgetting about the receipt at the Missouri River Murder points at Weaver.”

  “Smart, it takes suspicion off him. How does Weaver like Arnott?”

  “What?”

  “I don’t know if you noticed, and don’t get me wrong, I could care less one way or the other, but your partner is black or African American. Don’t care what you call it. Is there anyone on the team that it bothers?”

  “No one treats Arnott differently because he’s black. It’s a non-issue.”

  “Think about it objectively, Cooper. Does Weaver make any jokes or comments regarding race? Does he seem stand-offish where Arnott is concerned?”

  “Again, I’ve never noticed anything that would lead me to suspect anyone has a problem with Arnott.”

  “Okay, then how did your promotion affect Weaver and Sparks?”

  “That’s a totally different subject. It was wrong and I told Captain how both Arnott and I felt about it. Both teams worked hard o
n those cases and both teams deserved the recognition and promotion. I still don’t understand it.”

  “Captain didn’t give you an explanation?”

  “No. Do you know something I don’t?”

  Megan shook her head. “You know I couldn’t tell you if I did. Come on, Cooper. Let’s go back and clarify a few questions I still have about Weaver. His step-father was abusing him and when your dad found out he beat the crap out of Paul’s dad. You dad struck a deal with Mr. Weaver; he had to divorce his wife, Paul’s mother, and move back to Minnesota where his family was from. If he did this then your dad wouldn’t file sexual abuse charges on him. He gave up all rights to Paul.”

  “That sums it up I guess.” Cooper listened and tried imagining Paul as the killer they were looking for. Did Paul really want to destroy him? What about Candy? Was she in danger, too?

  “Could Paul be blaming you for losing his father?” Dallas asked, interrupting his thoughts. “I know that sounds warped, but a kid has to have someone to blame. Perpetrators of incest use threats, lies, and manipulation to guarantee secrecy to ensure the acts continue. I’m sure Mr. Weaver created ways to make sure Paul remained loyal to their family. His father could have planted the seed that you were to blame.”

  “What I remember of his dad makes my skin crawl. He was demanding and yelled all the time. Everyone was nervous when he was around. My mother and Aunt Linda were barely eleven months apart. They joked about being twins and were in-touch with each other like Candy and me. My mother and father argued about Paul’s dad. Dad told Candy and me to steer clear of him.” Cooper hated reliving that time of his life.

  “Some of the most common problems Paul had to face because of this would include depression, eating disorders, substance abuse, anxiety, or dissociative disorders such as multiple personality disorder. Some survivors develop the symptoms of specific personality disorders. Most common are those associated with hysteric, borderline, narcissistic, avoidance, or dependent personalities.”

  “Borderline, what the hell’s that?” Cooper thought he’d heard it all and they were just conditions and words used to describe serial killers. But now Dallas was talking about his cousin. Someone he cared about. It was hard to even listen to.

  “It pretty much means someone who has difficulties maintaining a stable mood and self-image. It drives his need to kill to establish control and dominance. A lot of times that’s why these perps engage in necrophilia with the corpses of their victims. They no longer can judge or make fun of his abilities. He’s totally in control and dominates the entire act. He hates to be criticized.”

  “Well, hell no one likes to be criticized.”

  “True, but you have the ability to dissect the criticism and decide what good to take from it or maybe it is just bull and you can dismiss it. The offender in this scenario cannot control the criticism and feels … no, not even feel because he is unemotional and detached. He reacts with his fist or in ways to get-even behind the scene, like I think is happening here.”

  “Jesus.” Cooper shook his head. “I did try talking to Paul about … it once. He clammed up. So that’s when I promised never to tell anyone—”

  “But you told Candy.”

  “I wish I hadn’t. Maybe … I mean … if this killer is Paul … I could have stopped this whole thing from happening if I’d kept my mouth shut.”

  “And Paul’s step-father would have continued abusing him. Do you think that was right? There is no blame on your part. Paul had some demons to deal with, and much to his non-control he might have chosen this path. I’m telling you right now you couldn’t have known. Most serial killers are described as intelligent, charismatic, street-wise, charming, and generally good looking. I hate to say it, but Paul is all of those if not more.”

  “What do you mean … and more?”

  “Well he’s not married but has maintained several relationships. He’s a mobile individual and could travel miles to find his perfect or worthy victim. I’m sure by now you have zeroed in on the fact that all his victims are similar in appearance.”

  “Long blonde hair, blue eyes, shapely, professional, and in a new relationship that no one seems to know the identity of. Yes, I did put that together. I’m still not sure we’re talking about Paul.”

  “Once your father gave Mr. Weaver the ultimatum and, therefore, Paul no longer had a father, and he had to deal with the fact people now knew he was sexually abused. All these years he has had to worry you might tell someone else or maybe since you told Candy, she might tell someone else. His mother didn’t protect him and since he’s adopted, he may feel she isn’t his mother. In all reality, his birth parents deserted him. He feels betrayed by them, his father, his mother, and his two best friends and cousins, Candy and you.”

  “You don’t really think after all this time he’s trying to kill me now? I don’t see it.”

  “He doesn’t want you dead, Cooper. He could have made that happen so many times already. He’s making you look over your shoulder—just like he has had to. He’s making you feel paranoid and believe everyone is out to get you—just like he has felt. He wants you to feel betrayed—like he has felt betrayed. You had a father and mother as you grew up and his father was forced to leave. Now he is dead and his mother is useless to him. You have a twin sister to share everything with and once you both shared with him—then betrayed him and now he has no one. Then suddenly you and your partner get this big promotion and he wonders why he didn’t. It’s just too much to take.”

  “Is that what your profiling is telling you?”

  “Yes and no. There’s something missing. Something tangible that ties it all together. I just don’t know what it is. But if we’re right we’ll learn that Pete is sexually dysfunctional and has a low self-esteem, he’s just learned to hide it.”

  “That’s why all these kinky sex crimes?”

  “It may or may not be about sex, but it’s definitely about power and control. What his father did to him twisted his way of thinking. If Paul is our man, he’s found great satisfaction in the knowledge that he’s defeated the police. I’m sure he’s manipulated evidence to assure the police made the wrong conclusion. He’s a very clever killer.”

  Pete’s phone buzzed, Cooper jumped and handed it back to Dallas. “You handle it, I’m driving.”

  “Oh, shit.”

  “What’s wrong?” A sick feeling washed over Cooper. “Are the twins okay? God, tell me—”

  “He sent a text on Pete’s phone.”

  “Read it.”

  “An IA agent and detective were confused for the clever killer left them feeling used. Oh, they properly collected all the clues, but found themselves breaking all the rules. Where do they go from here—or do they? Solve the case and make the killer pay.”

  “His other poem was better,” Cooper said.

  “Funny. Okay, I think Gulchinski had his son’s phone pinned so if he wanted to know where Pete really was, he could track him by his cell phone. The killer is telling you he knows you have Pete’s iPhone with you and knows where you physically are.”

  “Text him back. Cell phone for emergency in case I get held up and need to let you know. Will toss it away ten miles before reaching Garnet.”

  “I think that gives him all the control. A serial killer is a very insecure individual. He is without power unless he’s in control. I think we should text him your initial comment.”

  “What? ‘Your other poem was better’?”

  “We’ve been driving for over an hour. Your family is safe. We need to play with this guy’s head. Let’s flip the coin and make him our victim. That means we want to manipulate him, make him feel uncomfortable and unsure what we know.”

  “We play that game and we could get Megan killed.”

  “You and I both know she’s most likely dead already. I’m not saying we shouldn’t hope for the best, but we are trained and know the score. Since our guy is into self-gratification to a point where nothing else matters, let’s y
ank his chain a bit. It’ll toy with his control and he’s more likely to make a mistake.”

  “Okay, let’s play ball. It’s about time we had a face-off.”

  Dallas said the words as she texted: Your other poem was better. She pressed send. “He should have it right now.”

  “I hope you’re right about this. If nothing else, if he hasn’t gotten to Megan, this might distract him from hurting her.”

  “We can hope. Okay, he’s responded already. He said, Fuck off.”

  Cooper laughed. “Score one for us.”

  “I suggest we respond with something like this.” Dallas texted: Would love to. Can’t. Some asshole serial killer is digging his grave and I’m anxious to see him fall in it.

  “I’m trusting you here, Dallas.” Cooper said. “Go ahead and send it. But I’m telling you, it’s going to piss him off.”

  “That’s the idea. We want to pull him out of his comfort zone. He believes he’s superior to you. During the day he’s a trained detective. When he kills he isn’t conflicted because he’s able to operate in an emotionally detached manner with no empathy for the victims.”

  “In other words he feels … oh not feels … believes he’s justified in what he’s doing.”

  “Exactly. Okay, he’s answered. All evidence is pointing at you, detective. Megan just admitted the twins aren’t yours. Too bad, so sad. Guess your brother-in-law likes to keep it all in the family though.”

  “That bastard,” Cooper shouted.

  “Hold on and keep your cool, he’s playing his game. We know that because he’s trying to take back control and push your buttons. There’s a good chance he hasn’t even started on Megan yet. Let’s play this out. We’ll need to respond but not in the way you think.”